


we'll see you

by urfriendlyneighborhoodpan



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: F/M, Hurt/Comfort, JUST, Rare Pair, i literally had to make up the tag, really really rare, somebody on tumblr reqeusted it so i brought it over
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-06
Updated: 2016-04-06
Packaged: 2018-05-31 14:40:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,500
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6474388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/urfriendlyneighborhoodpan/pseuds/urfriendlyneighborhoodpan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Nobody asks her anything, although every now and again she catches sight of one of the boys from across the hallway and they offer a small smile, and this hurts, too."</p>
            </blockquote>





	we'll see you

**Author's Note:**

> was requested on tumblr when i asked for rare pair prompts, and

The bus ride back home isn’t silent, and she thinks this a good sign. Somewhere from the back of the bus the second years are clumsily trying to sing an American song they’d heard once and she is sitting by the window watching homes turn to buildings to parks to scattered fields of green to dirt and pond and mountain and then parks, and then buildings, and then home again, here, there is no one waiting for them at school and when they unload the weight of failure presses in on them and no one is silent. No one is silent, someone is talking on the phone with a friend and another is clicking their tongue as the bus pulls away a final time and she can’t quite breathe, this tension feels like another presence in their crowd and it is hard to ignore. And so no one goes silent, no one dares face it.

One of the boys touches her shoulder and bids her goodbye, and Terushima chances an arm around her, squeezes her into his side very briefly and tells her, “We’ll see you.”

He doesn’t apologize or thank her, he doesn’t bid her farewell a last time—there is nothing to lose here. He smells like sweat and boy and failure and she hears him swallow tightly, what he will not dare reveal to her, and then he is releasing her, stepping away to grin a cocky grin and spins on his heel to trail after his friends. There is no tearful speech, there is no soulful confession, no last-minute promises they know they probably won’t keep, and she is okay with this.

She turns for home, and the walk back is silent.

.x.

The end of the school year approaches, and while sometimes she attends practice to watch the boys, she begins to draw further and further away. Their future manager is a meek girl, and in order for her to grow more comfortable Misaki decides that weaning her into it would benefit most. And so she misses more and more meetups, dedicates the extra time to studying for finals, and starts taking up hobbies to fill in the space it leaves behind. Reads more books, bakes cookies, considers getting a pet in the future, flies a kite at the park, and takes to texting Okudake more often. Nobody asks her anything, although every now and again she catches sight of one of the boys from across the hallway and they offer a small smile, and this hurts, too.

The first time they have sex, it’s because she has nothing else to do. There is too much time at the end of the day and not enough words to convey to someone who doesn’t understand what she’s feeling. The blank stares, the meaningless comfort, the sympathetic looks she gets when she tells her friends is not worth the feeling of guilt she has in her gut. They are in her bedroom and she can’t focus on her book. Somewhere downstairs her mother or sister is watching a loud, loud movie, and his hand is on her knee.

“I know,” Okudake says when she can’t find her voice, and everything else falls away.

It isn’t pretty or sweet. He doesn’t completely take off his pants and they’re on the floor, he’s on top of her and he’s too heavy, too big, and they fumble around for the right position. He pushes her shirt over her chest and clumsily fondles her breasts, mumbles something about this happening too quick and she has to agree. Everything is spinning, nothing makes sense anymore, she’s lost some purpose now and she doesn’t know what to do with herself—

They fuck on her bedroom floor, all hurried and panicked and afraid. He holds his hand over her mouth and grits his teeth, hissing at the sounds between them and desperately hoping it won’t give them away. The jingle-jangle of his belt buckle and how it clatters against her floor, the loud rustle of their clothes, the hot, wet slap of their skin and the sharp exhales she makes out her nose, the muffled moans and the low grunts. She jolts when he tucks his face against her throat and kisses the skin under her jaw, the way he rolls his hips when she arches her back. And it is for this reason she slides a hand between them and flicks at herself until she comes, bucking and whimpering against him.

His mouth finds hers when he finishes, snapping his hips down into hers and pressing in as close as he can before holding still with a grunt.

And they lay there, sweaty and breathless and wondering where the fuck this is all going.

.x.

“Just for a little while,” he tells her during lunch break, out in the courtyard where no one can hear them. “I know it’s a little late, but I wanna try.”

And it’s not as if they’re a couple exactly. For the first couple of weeks, it’s these secretive glances in the hallways, their hands brushing as they pass each other, his harmless offer to walk her home and the quickie in her bedroom if no one is home to witness it. And on the day he asks her out on a date, she smiles and says _yes_ , and when he asks to hold her hand she says _yes_ , and when he slides his fingers up her leg under the gazebo at the pars she says _yes_ —she says _yes_ , and she doesn’t stop to think about what this means anymore.

They are just weeks from graduation and she has stopped visiting the boys altogether. She thinks she hears somewhere that the team that bested them had made it through to the end, and for a second she is suspended in disbelief. If only she’d worked harder to connect with her team, they might’ve made it a little further. As she stands now, there is a short list of universities she wants to attend, and the further they take her from her home, the more appealing they sometimes look.

It is the weekend before finals, and the more she rereads her notes the less she understands the words on them. She has revised them dozens of times over, and no part of her doubts she will remember them when it matters most. When his number appears on the screen of her phone, she doesn’t hesitate to answer.

“So, I was thinking,” he says, handing her a can of soda from the vending machine as she approaches him. It’s cool outside, and he’s wearing an old, familiar sweater she has told him before looks good on him. She has these sweats on, a dark hoodie and scuffed sneakers. Neither one dressed up for the occasion but neither one spares the other a judgmental glance. “I was thinking maybe we can try going steady. If you want, and let people know we’re a thing.”

“We’re a thing?” she asks, and he smiles. “That’s cool.”

They sit on a bench and share a drink, and when he walks her home he catches her face and kisses her very softly on the mouth. It doesn’t make her heart race or her knees weak, but she wants more. She wants more, she wants to fold herself into his arms and lose a few hours just touching him.

And it’s not as if they’re a real couple exactly. A month, two months, they never say _I love you_ , or confess some big and hidden feelings they’ve had _all along_. But they’re not quite what they used to be, and they probably never will be again. It doesn’t feel right or perfect, but it doesn’t feel wrong either, and so she thinks this a good sign.

This silence between them is comfortable, and understanding, and warm enough that when she tells him, “I’m sorry,” he isn’t even remotely surprised at her outburst. The sun is setting now and his hands are cold and he touches her cheeks very gently.

“You did what you could,” he says, and she feels some weight soften right at her chest. “That’s more than enough.”

.x.

The boys are closing down the clubroom for the last time this year, and she has her test results in her bag. There a tension in the air and she can’t quite breathe, when they see her standing in the clearing they all fall silent.

“I’ll be there,” she promises, and this she will not break. “Every game. I’ll be there for you.”

It is a beating moment before they melt before her very eyes, these young and vulnerable boys, engulfing her in a ball of tangled arms. Terushima has his cheek uncomfortably pressed against her forehead and they all smell like sweat, like boy, like all the things they couldn’t accomplish and all the things they’ll soon make up for.

“We’ll see you,” they say, and she knows this is not goodbye.

.x.


End file.
